


Leather and Cream

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Crack Treated Seriously, Dom/sub Play, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Fluff and Smut, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Pet Names, Restraints, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: In a strangely Freudian fashion, the purpose of such an experience was to know your own mortality. To knock the human ego down a few pegs and remind yourself that no, you are not infallible. To feel the terror of losing control while hidden safely behind a fortress built from steel and mortar. It was like staring Death straight in the eyes and knowing that it wasn't your time. Your body, your life, your soul, placed in the hands of those who would lay down their own to protect them.It was, to put it bluntly, the best of both worlds.





	Leather and Cream

**Author's Note:**

> So, I got this idea because I'm a - never mind. It's a BDSM kinkfest that will most likely be in 2 parts. At least that's what I have planned for it right now. I swear, this story is cursed because I have never had trouble writing anything as much as I did writing this, good god. What a mess.
> 
> So, I'm dabbling a little in BDSM themes now if the tags weren't obvious enough and I wanted to try my hand at writing it. It probably sucks, but it's my first real BDSM fic so please be gentle (pun intended).
> 
> This story switches back and forth between the events taking place in the present to scenes from a few months prior which will gradually cover the backstory that leads up to the present. I've dated the scenes so hopefully y'all will be able to follow the story's progression without too much head-scratching. Hopefully.
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy.

_Come and rest your weary head. In my arms shall your fears be shed._

_Only my will should you defer. Your surrender I need, you must concur._

_Your body I strip, taint, and plunder, beneath these hands your soul torn asunder._

_All these things I do for you because baby, I yearn for absolution, too._

 

_August 12, AC 203. San Francisco, California..._

Calloused, but gentle fingers brushed his hair away from his forehead and tucked unruly curls behind his ears in that soothing way Quatre had become so accustomed to. The touch was so familiar, so reverent, as though he were a priceless artifact cradled in the hands of a passionate archaeologist who appreciated its irreplaceable value. Such love for him did those hands possess. Such possessiveness over him did those hands express, with every caress, every pinch, every acquisitive grip of Quatre’s flesh.

Beside him, Trowa crouched down and crooned softly into his ear, words of comfort and encouragement. Words that ignited his blood and converted it to liquid fire. “It’s alright. You’re perfectly safe and you’re being so good. So good for us. Such a good boy. You look so beautiful like this, kitten. So fucking hot.”

He preened at the compliment and blinked drowsy eyes up at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember being stripped, or placed on the modified examination table. He couldn’t remember his lovers strapping him down with the series of restraints that were attached to it. He did remember being injected with a mild muscle relaxer and figured he’d probably dozed off before being moved.

Trowa had explained prior to the injection that the muscle relaxer was meant to keep him calm and pleasantly mellow, but would not diminish his nervous system’s response to stimuli.

He could sense the other three men in the room, though he couldn’t see them at the moment. But they were there, watching him. Admiring the view from their respective places in the shadows until it was time to emerge. For right now, the objective was to ease Quatre’s fears and anxiety and make sure he was completely comfortable in this unfamiliar setting. To fully enjoy the experience and let go of his inhibitions and it was Trowa’s job to get him there.

The blond lay prone on what looked like a souped-up obstetrician table from what he could tell, but the two extensions at the foot where the stirrups would be located were reshaped and altered to hold the entire length of his legs up and bent at the knee. They were positioned at an outward angle and fixed in place to keep him spread open. Thick leather straps fastened his legs to the extensions at the ankles, just below the knees, and over the middle of his thighs.

Another strap across his lower chest kept his torso flush with the table and his arms were secured above his head with padded cuffs around his wrists. The chain between them was looped behind a tall pole that had been welded to the head of the table. The pole curved at the top, down and away from him in a rounded hook that curled up at the end. It was specifically designed to make it impossible for him to slide the cuffs up and off the pole without dislocating his shoulders first.

His whimper was muffled behind the small ball-gag in his mouth when Trowa slid a hand down over his chest and belly, his knuckles just barely brushing the tip of his weeping cock. His hips jerked involuntarily, desperate for contact, but Trowa pressed a firm hand down on his pelvis to still the movement with a gently chiding, “Ah, ah, ah. Behave, kitten. Only good boys get rewarded.”

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He’d been ordered to remain still, but it was proving to be more challenging than he’d expected, especially with all this teasing. He let out a soft, hitched sound and bit down into the ball, begging his hips for cooperation as Trowa’s fingers hooked beneath his balls. He stroked them up, over the ring that was secured at the base of Quatre’s cock. He continued up the length until he reached the head and gave it a gentle flick with his thumb. A zing of electricity traveled up the length of Quatre's spine, but he managed by some tiny miracle to keep his backside from leaving the table.

“That feel good, kitten?”

He dipped his chin in affirmative, a little flustered about not being able to speak. His mouth worked around the gag, itching to wheedle and plead for more. For Trowa to inch just a little further down and sink his fingers into his most intimate place. Tonight, such pleas would fall on deaf ears. Tonight, he was playing their game, bound by their rules. He'd already agreed to the terms and conditions and signed his name in ink. If he behaved, this would work in his favor. If he didn’t, the torturous teasing could go on for hours before he was permitted the kind of stimulation he really craved.

Because he was gagged, safewords were out of the question. They’d agreed to Quatre making a peace sign with each of his hands if any of his lovers crossed the line into territory he wasn’t comfortable with. Trowa was tasked with periodically checking the blond’s hands to be sure he wasn’t giving the signal to stop. Being the most in tune with Quatre physically, emotionally, and spiritually, he would continue to monitor his body language and facial expressions for any signs of distress.

At no time should Quatre ever experience fear, or pain he didn’t consent to. This was about making him let go of the responsibilities and pressures of the outside world. It was about reducing him to a state of mind where nothing existed outside of what he was feeling. No thoughts, just sensation and raw emotion. To experience the humbleness and humility of handing over control of oneself and placing it in the hands of another. To expose and reap his vulnerability in a place of complete safety, looked after by those he knew would never hurt, judge, or ridicule him.

He mewled as Trowa bent down and took a nipple into his mouth, working the tender bud into a hardened point. His hand skimmed over Quatre’s torso again, but bypassed his cock and moved lower until his fingertips brushed over the sensitive skin of his perineum. Quatre nearly forgot himself and jerked his hips up again, careless and bold in his need for penetration, but he was somehow able to will his body to behave.

Trowa released his nipple and moved up to his ear and Quatre waited for the praise he knew was coming. Their special connection made it perfectly clear that Trowa had sensed his restraint and was pleased. “Good boy. You’re doing so well, kitten. You want me to touch you there? Is that what you need?”

He bit down on the gag and nodded deliriously, his mind bleating an endless string of, _Fuck, yes. Fuck, I need it so bad_. Trowa stood and reached behind the blond’s head, bringing a gauzy, plum-colored scarf into view. Quatre obediently closed his eyes when Trowa placed the length of fabric over them and then lifted his head off the table so he could secure it in the back. Once he was deprived of sight, a pair of soft foam plugs were carefully pushed into his ears and the deafening echo of his own breathing effectively muffled outside noise until he was left with only his sense of smell and touch.

Sensory deprivation heightened the pleasure, or so he’d been told. Being a novice at things such as this, he was merely going along with what his lovers had told him about it and what required research he’d done prior to this agreement.

Soon, the other three would emerge and take part, but Quatre would have no way of knowing who was doing what. He was laid out like a trussed up turkey, bound, blinded, and deaf, and the increased adrenaline pulsing through his veins from the helplessness of his situation made his body tingle with a thrill of wicked danger. It was one of the rare moments he felt truly alive. The rush was not unlike the high he’d experienced during battle, or the time Dorothy Catalonia had run him through with a fencing blade. Being in a state of peril, close enough to get a taste of death, had the ability to open your eyes and your mind. To make you appreciate life in a way those who’d never danced with the Devil took for granted.

In a strangely Freudian fashion, the purpose of such an experience was to know your own mortality. To knock the human ego down a few pegs and remind yourself that no, you are not infallible. To feel the terror of losing control while hidden safely behind a fortress built from steel and mortar. It was like staring Death straight in the eyes and knowing that it wasn't your time. Your body, your life, your soul, placed in the hands of those who would lay down their own to protect them.

It was, to put it bluntly, the best of both worlds.

Trowa’s lips brushed against his ear again and it was only the proximity that allowed him to hear his lover's inquiry. “Are you ready, kitten?”

He nodded shakily, trying to keep his breathing calm and even despite the jolt of adrenaline that jump-started the giddy flutter of his heart. This was it. There was no turning back now.

_Ride, or die, boys. I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready so let’s get this show on the road._

“Then let the games begin…”

 

**~***~**

 

_June, 24th, AC 203. L4 colony cluster..._

He found out that his lovers were heavily into the BDSM scene on a warm, muggy night in June. He'd been called out on assignment, but returned an hour later to fetch his phone which he'd forgotten and accidentally stumbled upon the four of them in the middle of what looked like a pretty hot and heavy moment. The image of Heero bound and gagged in the middle of their bedroom floor with bright red paddle welts on the cheeks of his ass was seared onto the backs of his eyelids, probably permanently.

They were as surprised to see him as he was to see them engaging in a form of kinky sex he'd never once witnessed them partake in before. He vaguely remembered backing out of the room, speechless with shock and betrayal. There were dim recollections of half-assed excuses he couldn't comprehend spilling from their lips as they attempted to stop him from leaving. He remembered how he'd shoved Trowa away in his fury, shouting expletives and insults meant to cause as much pain as they'd caused him. 

At the time, he’d been too gutted by their secrecy to find any of what he’d witnessed intriguing, or arousing. It hurt knowing that they didn’t trust him enough to involve him in that aspect of their relationship and he’d fled back to L4 with a cutting, if not slightly childish, “I'm keeping the house. You can share the paddle, preferably by breaking it into pieces and shoving them up your asses.”

It wasn’t until the end of the third week that Trowa finally showed up on his doorstep, desperate to see him after Quatre’s stubborn refusal to answer their calls and texts. He’d gone alone in the hopes that Quatre would be more receptive to his calm and subduing presence. At the very least, it saved the blond the embarrassment of having to explain to his neighbors why there were four grown men prostrating themselves on his front porch.

Quatre grudgingly let him in and listened quietly as Trowa tried to assure him that it wasn’t something they’d intentionally planned on keeping from him. They just didn’t know how to tell him. They were afraid of scaring him off. They were afraid he wouldn’t be okay with it. They were afraid of losing him. So on and so forth.

While he could understand their trepidation, it still didn’t take the sting away. It didn’t mend the broken trust that forced this rift between them. “So that means it’s okay to keep secrets from me?” 

“No, Quat. It’s not okay. I’m not making excuses here. I’m...just trying to explain - look, it doesn’t matter when the end result is that you're hurt. I’m so sorry - _we’re_ so sorry we hurt you. I swear to you, that’s the last thing we ever want to do. We love you, Quat.”

He sagged against the couch cushions and folded his arms, not as furious as he had been, but not ready to forgive just yet. “Why would you ever think I’d react badly to something like that? Do you guys think I’m a prude?”

“Well, no. Of course not, but -”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m in a sexual relationship with all four of you already. You guys have seen me in various states of undress and some pretty undignified positions, too, may I remind you. We’ve done just about everything under the sun...except for this. You really thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it?”

Trowa’s cheeks were flushed a fetching pink. “As lame as it sounds now, we thought we were protecting you.”

“From _what?!_ A kink? Come on. I know you guys get a little...weird...about me sometimes, but isn’t this taking it to the extreme? I mean, why do I constantly have to prove to you that I’m just as strong as you all are? Not physically, I know, but it’s not like I wasn’t doing everything you were during the war. Why can’t you give me a little more credit and stop treating me like I’m a piece of glass? It’s getting really insulting.”

The guilt in Trowa’s eyes was heartbreaking and Quatre hated that he’d caused such an emotion, but maybe...just maybe he was finally beginning to understand how all this looked from where Quatre stood. “I’m so sorry, Quat. I didn’t realize we were making you feel like this. I wish you’d told us sooner."

He softened, a little. “I mean, it’s - it’s not all bad. Sometimes I like it when you idiots act like cavemen,” he said, smiling when Trowa laughed. “You guys always make me feel so special and loved and I guess...this just made it seem like that was all an act, or something.”

“I promise you none of it was an act. We meant every bit of it. We love you. I love you. We need you and we want to make this right. Please come back to us? We’re not complete without you.”

Quatre chewed his lip and didn't answer immediately, hoping the suspense would make his lover squirm for a few minutes. It would serve him right. He waited until Trowa’s expression shifted from eagerly expectant to crushing disappointment before he leaned forward, close enough that their lips were a mere inch apart.

“What are you gonna do for me, clown boy?”

 

**~***~**

 

_August 12, AC 203. San Francisco, California..._

Sweat clung to his flushed and heated skin, tiny beads of perspiration shimmering gold beneath the muted lights of their new playroom. He arched the long, delicate column of his neck and mewled his pleasure from behind the gag, lost to the gentle, wet suction over his cock and against his opening. Hands, strong and possessive in contrast, gripped him around the thighs and hips, fingers sinking greedily into his soft flesh.

If it wasn’t for the ring squeezing the base of his erection, he would have climaxed after the first few minutes. As it was, he estimated that at least a good forty five minutes had passed since two of his lovers buried their faces between his legs and they didn’t seem in much of hurry to cease his torment anytime soon.

Oh, but such achingly sweet torment it was. The driving urge to come had faded once he resigned himself to the fact that he would be permitted release only at their discretion. With the added effects of the muscle relaxer, it took little effort to coax him into a state of docile submission.

_Just lay back and enjoy the ride. That’s what Duo said and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. But I swear to Christ, if they leave me hanging, they’ll be spending the next week nursing their dicks with ice packs._

A pointed tongue poked inside him and he feverishly tossed his head from one side to the other. It was one of the few ways he could express how incredible the dual stimulation felt. Another one of his lovers stood just behind and to the right of his head, stroking his damp hair away from his face with hands that were capable of such gentle caresses, yet had the potential to commit unspeakable violence. Quatre was positive that those hands belonged to Heero, but he still couldn't place the other three and probably wouldn't unless they gave themselves away with a kiss, or touch that was as unique as they were.

Occasionally, Heero bent down and pressed tender kisses onto his covered eyes and over his temples. Quatre could feel the humid puffs of his breath ghosting over his face and his nostrils picked up the faint hint of caramel and coffee from the cappuccino Heero had been drinking an hour ago. _Got you,_ he thought with a slight, albeit petty, surge of victory.  _You guys aren't as clever as you think you are._

A third lover leaned down and nuzzled the blond's left nipple before taking it into his mouth. Quatre focused on the distinctly gentle suction and practiced swipes of the man's tongue. There was no tickling brush of hair from any of their respective places around him and he assumed Duo and Wufei had preemptively tied their long locks back in an effort to conceal their identities. That left Quatre with only the physical and olfactory process of deduction. Their unique scents, the traces of food and drink that lingered on their breath, the differences in the way they used their hands, mouths, and bodies.

His left nipple was released in favor of the other and he doubled down on his concentration, stubborn in his determination to figure out who was who. It wasn't Heero, he knew that. Duo was a biter and Trowa was prone to nuzzling and gentle suckling. Wufei's method was more aggressive than Trowa's, but less than Duo's. He typically alternated between flicks of his tongue, firm sucking, and the delicate graze of his teeth.

But what confirmed it were the muted notes of citrus and pine that wafted beneath his nose. The bitter and earthy scents of orange peel and blue spruce that made up the distinct bouquet of Wufei's favorite cologne.

That left only Trowa and Duo, both of whom were gorging themselves on his nether regions. After that, it wasn't difficult to identify them. The way the mouth that worked over his cock, attentive and reverent, could only belong to Trowa. His style, at least when making love to Quatre, was obeisant. The long licks from base to tip, the maddening swirl of tongue around the head, and the perfect amount of suction felt like being worshipped by someone who didn't believe himself worthy of such an honor. Which in Quatre's experience was Trowa through and through.

He'd spent the better part of five years just trying to convince the man that he was good enough for him. For the longest time, Trowa's abject refusal to believe it was a major point of contention between them and Quatre had no choice but to distance himself for his own mental health. Oddly enough, his withdrawal was what forced Trowa to come to his senses and in a stunning turn of events, the pursued became the pursuer.

Quatre was _just_ vindictive enough to play hard-to-get, relishing in Trowa's visibly flustered state that seemed to increase as time went on. Luckily for him, it worked out perfectly in the end once the coy flutter of his lashes and shameless presentation of his skinny jean-clad backside proved too much for Trowa's libido to handle.

Trowa's frustration finally boiled over in Quatre's apartment one Christmas Eve when his attempts to get close were brushed off with flirtatious dismissal. What followed was a shouting match of epic proportions. Trowa, eyes wide and unhinged, pointed a shaky finger in Quatre's face and accused him of being a cock tease.

Quatre's response was a blunt and daring challenge. "And what are you going to do about it, you fucking pussy?"

Less than ten minutes later, his discarded clothing was flung haphazardly all over the room after Trowa's frenzied rush to get him naked. Trowa didn't bother to disrobe himself, merely pulling his cock out of his jeans and approaching the blond until he was backed against the wall. When he smeared a gob of saliva over Quatre's opening and guided his erection inside, Quatre was stunned into submission. He stared blankly at his periwinkle bikini briefs which were hanging precariously from the shade of his floor lamp and moaned like a cheap whore as Trowa held his thighs in a bruising grip and fucked into him like a man suffering from an explosive case of blue balls. 

For all Quatre knew, he had been. 

Now it was easy to recognize Duo's signature brand of ass-eating and he scolded himself for not knowing it was him sooner. Like everything else he did, Duo threw every part of himself into a task and when it was something he particularly favored, he went at it with the gusto of a Tasmanian Devil during the peak of mating season. He reveled and thrived on kinky sex and took special pride in his ability to reduce his lovers to dazed and drooling idiots. He didn't care where, when, or how, but he often enjoyed the element of surprise. He loved to take them off guard by sneaking up behind them and using their momentary shock to bend them over the nearest surface. After yanking down whatever clothing obstructed his prize, he would gleefully part supple cheeks and indulge his inner glutton.

Once he brought them to a shuddering, messy climax, he would sit back and gloat as if he'd just committed some heroic act of bravery. "Yeah, that was good, right? You loved it, don't even deny it. You know why I love eating ass so much?"

It was a rhetorical question of course, but one they'd all heard a billion times. "Yes, we know, Duo. All the flavor, none of the calories." 

 

**~***~**

 

_June, 24th, AC 203. L4 colony cluster..._

He lay draped across Trowa’s body with his head on his lover’s smooth chest, drowsy and sated after riding his cock with the wild abandon of a veteran pornstar. Trowa appeared to be equally blissed out, smiling like a dope and carding his fingers through the blond’s sweat-dampened hair. “Mmm...god, you're amazing. If I’d known makeup sex with you was so hot, I would have started pissing you off a long time ago.”

Quatre pinched his nipple in reprimand. “Bite your tongue,” he scolded, pushing himself upright. Trowa’s softened cock slipped from the warm grip of his body as he bent down to grab his discarded t-shirt off the floor. He used it to wipe the spent come from his backside, a little unnerved by how much Trowa managed to produce. “Jesus. I’d ask how long it’s been since you’ve blown a load, but I know it probably hasn’t been more than a day, or two.”

Trowa smiled and stretched his long arms over his head. “What can I say? You just get me so worked up, I can’t help it.”

Quatre reached for his linen sleep pants and pulled them on, turning to face Trowa as he tied the strings at the waist. “You know this -” he gestured at the couch where they’d just made love -”is not what I meant when I asked you what you were going to do for me, don’t you?”

Trowa groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Quat -”

“And I didn’t mean just you either. You all owe me.”

He sat up and grabbed his jeans. “Look, this kind of thing...it’s...ah, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“What’s there to explain? Looked pretty cut and dry when you were doing it to Heero. Why's it so hard tie _me_ up and paddle my ass?”

Trowa's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning before the expression vanished quicker than a plate of donuts in Duo's presence. “There’s more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“Quat...I’m just not sure it’s something you should -”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll rip your tongue out and strangle you with it.”

 

**~***~**

 

_August 12, AC 203. San Francisco, California..._

He bit down hard on the gag, groaning long and low in his throat when rough fingers probed inside him and forcefully rubbed their calloused tips against his prostate. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, but if he had to wager a guess, he supposed it was probably around two hours since this all began.

His sweat-slicked back slipped against the vinyl padding beneath him as he writhed and squirmed and was thankful for the restraint across his chest that kept him from sliding right off the table. After another ruthless probe against the swollen gland, he choked and nearly swallowed his tongue.

There was nowhere to go to relieve the pressure. No way to scoot back when he needed a moment of reprieve. He clamped his teeth down into the gag and endured the arduous stimulation until tears began to leak from between his fluttering lashes.

His every thought was a whirling loop of desperation. Every nerve in his body thrummed like a finely tuned instrument, vibrating in perfect harmony the way strings of a violin resonated the notes of a symphony concerto. Every shiver, every whimper, every surge of delicious pleasure was provoked by the skillful hands of four maestros who knew his body better than their own.

The fingers withdrew and what followed was a pregnant pause. It was heavy, almost oppressive, like the moment of stillness and silence before a storm. Quatre’s heart pounded against his ribcage, the anticipation of what could happen now increasing with each passing second. There was no discernible pattern, no way to predict their next course of action. Would they fuck him, or would they step away and entertain themselves by watching him squirm helplessly?

_If they know what's good for them, they'll chuck that second possibility into the World's Worst Idea bin and fire a missile at it._

He jumped, startled when a blunt object pressed against his oiled and stretched opening and he barely had enough time to draw in a breath before it pushed its way inside him.  It was thick, stretching him wider than the fingers that preceded it, but it was not the warm, throbbing cock of one of his lovers. At first, he wasn’t sure what it was, but once the first few inches were in, he realized it was some sort of silicone shaft.

_Is that a dildo? Are they actually - oh, god! Are they all watching this?_

There was no way to tell where any of them were, but his mind took the liberty of conjuring up a vivid image of the four of them standing at the foot of the table, staring covetously at the plastic dick disappearing inside his body. To his surprise, it was more turn-on than humiliating and he let out a guttural moan to communicate his approval.

He panted laboriously, soft little mewls of pleasure escaping on every exhale as the toy reached those aching places inside that made him quiver with abandon. The shaft withdrew and then slid back in, reducing him to raw, savage need.

_Jesus - it - oh fuck, it feels so good. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I need to come soon, or I’m going to go insane._

The dildo pushed back in again, but this time he yelped when the head struck his prostate and began to vibrate. A sharp cry escaped from behind the gag and his back instinctively arched like the taut string of a bow despite the warnings going off inside his head that he was not supposed to move. His body no longer cared about the agreement he’d made, teased beyond his ability to control it.

_I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop it. I need to move!_

Consequences be damned. The primitive part of his mind, the one that governed over his most primal urges, grabbed the reins and went for broke. His ass lifted off the table and he pushed his hips into the penetration, hoping he was successfully conveying his desire to get his brains fucked out asap. His broken cries were muffled, but loud to his own ears and he prayed to every god he could think of that he wouldn’t be punished for disobeying.

To his relief, the one holding the toy seemed to be spurred on by the fervent roll of his hips. It was shoved into him roughly, pulled out, and then shoved back in again, the pace becoming so brutal that his thighs trembled beneath the restraints. He took everything they gave and used his body to beg for more, encouraging them with wheedling moans and the sensuous arch of his spine.

The touches returned and though it probably hadn't been more than fifteen minutes since they'd stopped, he realized how badly he missed being petted once they resumed. Three different pairs of hands groped between his legs, stroked up his sides, and clamped tightly around his biceps to pin them to the table. A playful mouth nipped at his quivering belly and kissed a line down to his straining cock, prompting him to shove his hips up, aching to feel himself inside that exquisite wet heat.

He earned a stinging slap to his thigh for his insolence and he whined as the mouth traveled upwards instead. It followed an invisible trail until it reached his neck and bit down hard on the tender flesh just over his pulse point. It was aggressive, reproachful, and he turned his head to the side, presenting himself as an offering in apology for his transgression.

He felt the satisfied hum of his lover’s voice vibrating his skin and whimpered when sharp teeth clamped down once again, holding fast in a silent, but clear reminder to remember his place. As the teeth held him still, the dildo was forcefully shoved into him until the buzzing tip was pressed flush against his overstimulated prostate. He took his punishment with flushing cheeks and resigned submission. He had to remember that he was not calling the shots. Just because they loved him didn't mean they would be any less merciless and he'd been thoroughly warned ahead of time. The only one to blame for his failure to obey was him.

From him, they did not want doubt, questions, sass, or rebellion. What they wanted was his complete and utter surrender and if there was anything Quatre hated, it was letting those he loved down.

He knew now that Trowa wasn’t exaggerating when he’d informed him about the intensity of their kinks. He understood why they were so insistent on making sure he knew what he was getting into when he agreed to become a part of it. This wasn't child's play. It wasn't a game like he'd thought it was. As much as he'd acknowledged it, he supposed there was still a part of him that had a difficult time believing they could be so dark, so... _marauding_. It wasn’t the first time he’d been taken roughly by his lovers, but this far surpassed any level of dominance they’d asserted over him before.

_I don't know why it's so surprising. I watched them commit brutal acts of violence during the war. Did I actually expect all that to go away once peace was declared? Of course they need an outlet for it. In a way, it's kind of like therapy for them._

_Maybe it is for me, too, because God help me, I am such a slut for it._


End file.
